


Star Wars: Knights of the Fallen Republic

by OrderOfRevan



Series: Revan of the New Republic [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A combination of Legends and Canon lore, Brief mentions of Star Wars: Old Republic, Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Man Out of Time, Slow To Update, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8157824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrderOfRevan/pseuds/OrderOfRevan
Summary: Revan is preserved for thousands of years past the time he should have died, having never been rescued from Maelstrom Prison. He awakes in a Republic unfamiliar to him, and must learn to cope in a world where nothing is familiar, finding a purpose to his life and a reason to live again.





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> One of my reviewers over on the KOTOR novelization seemed to imply they were perhaps slightly disappointed I didn't have other fanfiction uploaded. 
> 
> Because I like to please people, you can have this story.

It was like being awake except he couldn’t move, all his limbs felt leaden, and he could feel the machines and the Force keeping him alive, sustaining him. They felt like intruders, a dark poison that stilled his functions and made time irrelevant, desperate to wake from the nightmare, equally desperate to never wake up again and crumble into oblivion. 

All he knew was that he hated it, and that the hate made him feel hollow after he’d felt it for so long that time lost the same meaning “light” and “feeling” had. 

And then time moved again. 

At first he wasn’t completely aware of the change. Everything had been the same for so long that he thought it would have been more obvious when it changed, but by the time anything shifted he was so apart from himself that it took him awhile to notice. 

It seeped into his consciousness slowly, the absence of the darkness that had sustained him countless years. He was aware of it first only because he  _ had _ been so used to it that it startled him when it was finally filtered away and he found himself sustained by machines instead. 

Not the machines he was used to, though, he realized what seemed like hours after the revelation of the Dark’s absence. These machines were different, the way they worked was different, the things they were doing… it was all different. It felt less like they were trying to sustain him and more like they were trying to save him. 

He might not have noticed, but after so long with nothing but his own thoughts and the dreams that overtook his conscious mind to distract him, he’d become keenly aware of the workings of his own body. It was because of that he was able to realize that he was being healed, that someone was trying to pull him back from the half-death he’d existed in for longer than he cared to think. 

And then, against all odds, it worked.

One day he simply woke up, suspended in a tank, the world white and bright and overwhelming as it was unfamiliar. Everything felt raw and alive in a way that almost made his senses strain against the sudden rush of input, his skin on fire, his lungs gasping air to find them filled with liquid -- a sensation that was distressing until he realized he could breathe it. 

Inside the tank, his body wracked with shivers, he looked to the world beyond, detecting robed shapes, fine white pillars, and countless medical beds all through a sea of green. It was, ultimately, familiar, but the last real thing he remembered was the searing pain of betrayal and then years of combat in the silent recesses of his mind, locked away in a prison so well guarded, no one could find him. 

Not even the one he’d been Bonded to. 

He didn’t have any idea how he’d been brought here, and he didn’t have any idea how much time had passed. What he did know was that this wasn’t Dromund Kaas, and that this wasn’t his prison, in fact, it felt like the Jedi Temple, even though there was something different about it. The Jedi Temple in his memory… it had never been this large. 

The sound of hissing interrupted his thoughts, a million bubbles streaming past his face and then sinking slowly, his fiery skin turning to ice when it came into contact with the cold air. Not surprisingly, he found that he couldn’t support his own weight, and collapsed into the arms of one of the people on staff the moment the glass partition was raised and he was dropped from the supportive cables that had held him. 

“Whoah there,” the voice said, soft and strangely accented, though it was Galactic Basic. “Good to see you up, my friend. I think it’s best we get you into a bed.” 

The woman grunted as she began to pull him along, finally managing to get him onto one of the beds. “You’re a big one, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human as tall as you before.”

He didn’t even have the strength to speak, staring up into her face, a Twi’leki woman with pale green skin and large, warm eyes. Carefully, she inserted an IV in his arm, patting his hand in parting reassuringly before she pulled away enough for him to see her brown robes more clearly. “You won’t be able to take in solid food for awhile, and we have to get you rehydrated before giving you liquids. I don’t know who you are, but you were in bad shape.” She explained to him, though he wasn’t really surprised. “You might be able to speak again in a few days, with rest. For now, I suggest a lot of sleep.” 

_ Sleep.  _

The word was so appealing after so long suspended in half-sleep, neither conscious or unconscious, that he almost immediately drifted off for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. 

He woke fitfully, but while he slept, his body recovered, and he felt a bit of his strength return. For the next week, he remembered very few things, various doctors (Jedi?) swarming around him, his IV repeatedly changed, once or twice, a powerful presence pressing against his own mind, one that he resisted. He remembered everything from that week as shadows and shades of muddled brown and grey, especially prepared to the vibrancy of his dreams, where he remembered when he had lived another life before the Darkness had consumed him and he’d lost everything to betrayal. 

Then the dream-like quality of the first week of his new life vanished, and he found himself very much awake and aware for the first time in who knew how long. 

At first, it was just the sounds of the world around him, breaking against his dreamlike fugue like waves against the Corellian shore. He could hear the sounds of the Jedi Healers as they walked, patients conversing in whispers, the sound of his IV drip like a metronome in the darkness. The Temple itself, because he could be nowhere else, sung with the presence of the Force, the one sense he’d never lost, every stone attuned to the Light. 

After he could hear again, everything else followed. 

His sense of smell, accosted by the sterile, cold smell that all places of healing had. There was also a different scent, one he wasn’t used to, a scent that was wet in a different way than kolto.

His ability to feel the sheets against his skin, the way they shifted when he shifted, as much as his body protested. He could feel when the Jedi in attendance applied cold healing salve to his face and hands and when they changed his pillows and sheets. 

And then he finally opened his eyes. 

The first thing he really noticed was how large the Jedi Temple seemed, beds spread out for as far as he could see turning his head in either direction, spaced out evenly. In his time, it hadn’t been so large, which told him that enough time had passed that they were able to expand. Then, he noticed the sheer number of Jedi on staff, the countless robes in tan and brown that swirled about him like a flock of very dully colored birds. 

It reminded him of Kashyyyk and the Shadowlands. 

It’s only then that he noticed the man sitting at his bedside, green and bent with age, diminutive in size, wisdom hidden in the depths of his large, dark eyes. For a moment, it almost seemed the Master Vandar Tokare was sitting at his bedside, but the nose is too small, the smile is too guarded, and the skin is far too vibrant. 

“Good to see you awake, it is,” the small man said in a voice like gravel, grasping the nobby wooden staff in his hands as his smile softened around the edges. “Grave, your conditioned was. Glad to see you much improved, I am.” 

He opened his mouth and swallowed, trying to speak, finding that the words eluded him after so long. It was frustrating, not to be able to speak after all this time being silent. He wanted to talk, at least once, even if it was only to give this man some kind of name.

The small Jedi Master, because he could be nothing else, shook his head. “Been through a great deal you have, I sense,” said the man with a soft hum, his eyes slipping closed. “Touched by the Dark Side, you were. Such things take a long time to heal.” 

He nodded as he realized that he had felt this man’s presence before, pushing against his unconscious mind as he dreamed. Had he been trying to parse it for information? The thought terrified him. His mind had been violated by the Jedi Order before, ripped apart and stitched back together to make a lie, a man who had never lived. 

Cassus Jaylen. 

“Palpable, your distress is. Nebulous, is the Force within you,” the man reached out a small hand and placed it on his arm. “Suffered for many years, you have. Perhaps now, you may find peace.” 

He took a deep breath, wanting to ask countless questions, but unable to speak. His brow furrowed deeply, his hands tangled in the bedsheets as he struggled to find the words. 

“Zh--” He began, choking out the syllable, opening his eyes to look at the Jedi Master. “Jorren… Shan.” 

“Jorren Shan,” said the man, measuring the name carefully with his words and thoughts, nodding as he withdrew his hand. “Yoda, my name is; Grandmaster of the Jedi, I am.” His look grew more serious, his dark eyes scanning Jorren’s face. “Sense many questions within you, I do. Patience you must practice. For now, focusing on recovering, you must.” 

He nodded again, though the questions burned in the back of his throat. 

At least he’d managed to get a name out, his real name,  he supposed. He didn’t introduce himself by the other one, the well know one, because he had a sense of foreboding about it, a sure sign that the Force was prodding him. 

Revan. 

It felt strange to even think the word, and suddenly the scars on his face felt hot, like they were on fire, the way they’d had when…

No. He wouldn’t think about it. Not now. Right now he had to focus on healing his body and finding his answers. 

The mind would come later. 

“Visit you later, I will,” said the Jedi Grandmaster, drawing Jorren’s attention back to him. “For now, sleep.” 

And Jorren slept again, though whether it was because of the Force’s interference or just because he was tired, he couldn’t say. 

When he woke, the IV was finally removed, and the Jedi Healer he remembered from the day he’d first become aware brought him a tray full of different beverages. He suspected they tasted like medicine, and he wasn’t disappointed when he took them one after another like shots and found that they all tasted disgusting. 

_ That’s how you know it’s working. It tastes like Bantha piss.  _

It was something Canderous had told him once, and with the things he had been dreaming about lately, searching for the Star Map pieces in his memory, he wasn’t surprised he’d thought of it now. 

“Master Yoda told me your name, Mister Shan,” the Twi’leki woman said as she put the tray to the side. “We’re going to start working you through physical therapy soon. Do you hurt anywhere?”

He cleared his throat and spoke, shaking his head for added emphasis. “No. No pain.” He looked at his hands, which looked oddly large only until he realized how much weight he must have lost over… however long he’d been there. “Are you giving me… drugs?” 

He looked back into her face, and she nodded, sending a slight shiver down his spine before he reflexively tested his connection to the Force.

It was still there. 

The Jedi weren’t Scourge. 

The Jedi weren’t even  _ his  _ Jedi, from what he could tell. 

He was safe.

“Your body is very weak and went through a great deal of abuse, and I suspect your recovery will be very slow, but I have faith you’ll be able to make a full physical recovery with the help of the Force.” She looked him over, bright eyes filled with a special sort of wisdom, the keen look of a woman who knew patients and how to help them. “Your mind is another matter. The Masters of the Council will want to speak with you at length. I thought… you should be prepared.” 

But they were still Jedi, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath as he thought about the other times he had stood before the Council. It had always been a battle, in one way or another. Chided, chastised, corralled into the behavior they found acceptable, his marriage incentivized and allowed only if he gave up his beliefs. 

He had been so tired. 

“I understand,” he managed after a moment, offering her a weary, lop-sided smile. “I’ve… been through a lot.” 

“They want to help,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, her grip strong, punctuating his own sudden frailty. “We all do.” 

That he believed. 

That was just Jedi.

Even if their helping wasn’t helpful at all.

“Thanks,” he managed as she helped him lean back against the pillows. 

It was the least he could do. 

 

***

 

The Jedi Council came to see him, though as it turned out, it was only a handful of their number that attended his bedside. He didn’t know if it was because they didn’t want to overwhelm him, but either way, it was a relief. 

He didn’t know if he could have dealt with twelve sickbed interrogators, even if he had grown stronger in the three months since his arrival. 

Stronger being a marginal term, in this case. If he wanted to go anywhere farther than his bed, he needed a droid to wheel him around. Some of his upper body strength was returning, though, even if he hadn’t eaten anything more solid that nutritional gelatin cubes in what felt like months. 

At least they were rich in protein. 

Medical science was a marvel. 

As it turned out, the members of the council who visited him consisted of Grandmaster Yoda, a Kel-Dor who gave off an air of serenity and wisdom, a Nautolan with a smile on his face that tried to be reassuring but ended up somewhat mysterious instead, and a thickly built, dark skinned human man with a perpetually dour expression on his face. 

“Heard you have improved much since our last discussion, I have,” Yoda said with a slight bow of his head as he gracefully jumped up into a bedside chair with the grace only a Force Sensitive could muster. “Good to see you sitting up, it is.” 

“It’s good to be sitting up,” Jorren replied, his eyes still carefully traveling over the other three members of the Jedi Council, curious about them. “And talking, I have to admit. I see you brought friends, Master.” 

“It seems introductions I must make,” Yoda said, motioning towards his companions. “Masters Plo-Koon, Kit Fisto, and Mace Windu, these are, respected members of the Jedi Council.” 

Jorren bowed his head in greeting, receiving returning bows from all three, though Windu, the dour human, seemed stiff. 

It reminded him of Master Vrook. 

That… didn’t bode well. 

“A pleasure to meet you,” said Master Plo-Koon, voice garbled from beyond his breath mask. “Everyone was quite surprised when you arrived, pulled from the wreckage of that space station.” 

“Prison,” Jorren corrected automatically, Windu’s thick brows rising before he and Master Yoda exchanged looks.  

“Prison?” Windu’s voice was short and clipped, giving Jorren the distinct impression that he’s no nonsense, and that he’ll expect prompt answers; Jorren is tempted to tell him to relax and take himself less seriously. 

“It… It was an Imperial prison,” Jorren explained. “A Sith prison. You know, the big, tall red guys with the tentacle faces and the scary eyes?” 

“The last of those Sith perished a long time ago, my friend,” said Fisto, whose voice was deeper and more gentle than Windu’s. “No Empire exists now. You are safe here. The horrors you faced in that prison are behind you.” 

“Begs the question, your statement does,” Yoda began, his gaze ever-penetrating, like he was attempting to strip away the layers of deception to see Jorren’s core. “Why imprison you, the Sith of old felt compelled?” 

“I don’t remember the circumstances completely,” he confessed, which wasn’t technically a lie; Jorren couldn’t remember being taken to the prison, and he couldn’t remember most of the push and pull between Vitiate and himself, the memories of that buried underneath countless fever dreams and bouts of insanity. “I was a threat. Or they thought I was. A… Jedi Master.” 

He watched as the four present members of the current Council exchanged long looks with each other, significant looks. He’d seen Jedi do such things before, and honestly… with the talk of long ago threats, his stomach had already been twisting. Either the Sith had never revealed themselves… Or they had, and it was so long ago that they had faded into a kind of mythos, only talked about in whispers. 

“You were a Jedi Master?” It was Windu, his voice making Jorren’s eyes focus as he snapped back to attention. “That explains your affinity with the Force, though not the taint we sensed when you were brought here.” 

“And I suppose you’re demanding an explanation, Master?” He asked, voice sharp, growing annoyed as the interrogation brought back memories of long ago. “If you have to know, I was sustained by Sith Alchemy and had my mind invaded by the Emperor. I’m sure his taint rubbed off on me. I… I was trying to kill him… I failed. They must have taken me captive rather than killing me.” 

He breathed out, centering himself --  _ No emotion; peace  _ \-- and then ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know why he didn’t kill me.”

He almost wished Vitiate  **_had_ ** .

Jorren watched Windu grit his teeth, even as he exchanged a meaningful glance with Yoda and then Fisto and Plo-Koon.  

To his surprise, it was Fisto who spoke first, his expression somehow both mournful and gentle. “Master Shan,” he said, the name sending strange shivers down his spine. “I believe a great many years have passed since you were taken prisoner. Perhaps more than we had initially believed.” 

“If you can tell me how long your best guess is, I’d appreciate it,” he stared into Fisto’s face, his hands tangling into the sheets, grasping them so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I’d rather deal with it now, just pull out the blade so I can heal the wound.” 

“Know the last major event in  your working memory, we do not. Many Empires there have been, and many who Sith themselves have called,” Yoda said, speaking for the first time in quite awhile. “Perspective, we would need to have, before a guess we could make.” 

Jorren tried to think of significant events, ones that didn’t reveal his role in things, finally settling on one that made sense, the open wound of the Jedi Order at the time he had been taken in. It was a wound four years fresh, the wound that had influenced the Jedi Order to keep its members from fighting the Mandalorians. 

The wound that made them believe everyone who Fell was beyond redemption. 

“Exar Kun,” he began. “I was born two years after his defeat. I grew up in a Order that warned its every member of the dangers of Falling and becoming Sith. A small Order. There was nothing like this.” 

Only Yoda’s face maintained its expression at his words, and though Jorren didn’t think it was possible, his stomach sank even lower. 

“Exar Kun?” Plo-Koon asked. “So you lived during the time of the Second Sith War? But I thought that the Red Sith did not reappear until the Great Galactic War three hundred years later…”

_ Oh. _

He… He was more than three hundred years in the future. 

If… it had taken three hundred years, he guessed… He was successful. His son, Bastila, everyone he cared about… They had all gotten to live normal lives.    
It felt like a pyrrhic victory. 

“I tried to stop them,” he explained, letting his chest grow numb; it was better than panicking. “I found out that they existed behind the edges of the known Galaxy at the time and went to Dromund Kaas to try to destroy them. I failed.” 

“You didn’t tell the Jedi Order when you discovered that they were lurking on the edges of the Galaxy, waiting?” Windu asked. 

“There were circumstances,” he explained. “You…” He paused, his brow furrowing deeply as he stared once more at his hands. “Wait, the Second Sith War? There was only one Sith War.”

“Lead the Sith against the Jedi in the Second Sith War, Darth Revan did,” said Yoda, bowing his head grimly, making Jorren suddenly grateful he hadn’t introduced himself by that name. “Two Jedi falling to the Dark Side in such a short time, a true tragedy is.” 

“That… We called that the Jedi Civil War,” Jorren said, meeting Yoda’s eyes. “After the Mandalorian Wars, many in the Republic deserted to follow Revan because he… He saved them and the Jedi abandoned the Galaxy. They refused to help fight off the Mandalorians. There wasn’t as much distinction between Jedi and Sith at the time.” Before they could respond, he pushed onward, continuing with his explanation, shooting a steely glance toward Master Windu. “There… was a lapse in the Jedi Civil War. I found the Sith during that lapse. I was held on Dromund Kaas for three years and had no way to get back to Republic Space because of a blockade. Warning the Order wasn’t an option.” 

“It’s true that the historical context behind Revan’s actions has been lost,” Kit Fisto said, seemingly before Windu could get a word in edgewise. “Perhaps you can help us fill in some of the blanks, when you recover. In truth, we know very little about Revan and his Fall.” 

“Just…” he took a deep breath and ran a shaking hand through his hair, not caring about Revan right now, for all the good Revan was going to do him. “How long? How long has it been?” 

More significant glances were exchanged, but, to his relief (and horror), they finally responded with Plo-Koon as their spokesman. “Nearly four-thousand years.” 

Four… Four thousand? How… how the kriff was that even _ possible _ ? How had he been sustained that long? He’d known it had been a long time, but he hadn’t expected… He hadn’t expected it to be  **_that_ ** long. Not only was everyone he knew dead, but their lines had probably died out long ago.

There was no one left.

There was no one left, and he was alone, with the Jedi. 

“Four… I…” his hands shook and he started to laugh, slightly manically. 

Jorren didn’t want to cause a scent, but at the same time, he felt like he was losing his grip on himself. Whatever progress he had made felt pointless in the weight of thousands of years of progress that had happened without him. Bastila wasn’t even a whisper anymore, not even a memory, and he… He was, what? Some imitation Exar Kun who had somehow managed to do less damage than… 

He couldn’t even  _ think _ .

His thoughts started to turn disjointed, his ability to think clearly taken from him, only grounded by the sudden, solid hand on his shoulder. Jorren still wheezed through his teeth, his body still shuddered, but he was at least able to focus on the fact that he was alive, that he was drawing breath. 

He  _ was _ alive. 

“Do… we know…” he managed between rasping breaths, looking into the face of Master Fisto, whose hand still lie heavily on his shoulder. “How… How I… survived?” 

“The facility had a Droid self-repair station,” said Windu, his harsh voice oddly ground, almost more so than Fisto’s hand. “They continued to run the facility and monitor your life signs long after people stopped visiting the prison.”

“Droids…?” he started to laugh again. “Of… of course… Droids.” 

They had managed to take care of the prison for three hundred years. What was a few thousand more, if they could take care of themselves, too? If anything, it was a testament to Imperial Engineering. 

The thought was weirdly comforting, though he couldn’t place why.

Maybe… Because it meant he wasn’t alone. 

“It was… in a difficult to navigate… region,” he said. “How?” 

“Technology is constantly advancing. There was a breakthrough in discovering ways to work around the navigational interference the region presented,” Windu continued. “A Republic ship searching the area for raw materials found the station and called the Jedi Order to extract you when they discovered you inside.” 

Focusing on the concrete details… helped. 

“We won’t abandon you, Master Shan,” said Fisto, giving his shoulder a companionable squeeze. “The Jedi Order does not abandon those in need.” 

“It’s true,” Plo-Koon said, voice ever calm, somehow reassuring because of the distortion rather than in spite of it “You used to be one of us, and you’ve been through a great deal. Your reaction is to be expected.” 

“Enough for one day, I think this is,” Yoda said as Master Fisto withdrew his hand. “The Healers to take you outside daily, I will advise. Fresh air, conducive to meditation is.”

Jorren nodded mutely. It would probably be good for him to… to not be inside constantly, to at least see how much the world around him had changed. Gree technology was the only thing that could have possibly navigated the Maelstrom before, so there were bound to be other changes. Not to mention, the grounds of the Temple seem to have expanded. He’d no doubt they’d had to rebuild a few times in the last several… several wars, enough to accommodate a growing Order. 

He’d never seen so many Jedi in his life, and he had grown up on Coruscant and Dantooine. 

“Try to get some rest,” said Master Windu. “We’ll be back to speak to you again.” 

For some reason, everything the man said felt like a threat.

It hurt that it reminded him of Vrook… 

And that he had missed it. 

 

***

 

Time passed both slowly and quickly, his recovery ironically the thing holding him together at the seams. He could focus on his body, his upper body strength returning quickly when he focused fully on recovering muscle mass. His lower body came more slowly, but it wasn’t long before he could walk short distances on his own.

Walking, in fact, seemed to return his old spirited streak, much to the annoyance of the Healers in attendance. 

Even as a boy, he’d always had a way of getting into trouble or doing things other people didn’t want him to do. At the time, the Order had been so desperate for strong, competent learners who could be potential leaders  that they didn’t question his strong willed nature or ravenous desire to learn. In hindsight, he probably had no business in a religious order whose primary tenants where passive acceptance of hardship and spiritual endurance without question. 

And so, in order to exercise his legs and win some time to himself, he took to escaping and exploring various parts of the Temple. His favorite location was the Archive, much less of a burden to explore when no one here knew his face or would recognize him in any way, shape, or form. 

It was because of one of his little trips to the Archives that he met The Chosen One. 

Jorren was struggling with trying to use the updated Archival Interface to look up anything useful after noting a Padawan hadn’t signed out from their access station before leaving. He was having difficulties, only because the system looked completely different than he remembered, and it was difficult to access the sheer volume of information that existed. 

However, Jorren was nothing if not tenacious, and he was sick of being left in the dark. Though Master Plo-Koon would sometimes give him the barest information on current events, and Master Fisto was more than willing to talk about the way the modern Jedi Order functioned, he’d been completely robbed of any and all historical context. He had no idea why the Order was so prosperous, what had happened to the Sith, or even how to use the massive holographic interface that was projected from the desk. 

In his day, it had been a screen.

Still, he’d figured out the Rakata technology, and well enough to reprogram a busted AI.

He could do this. 

And that was when Anakin Skywalker decided to chime in. 

“You new around here?” He said, catching Jorren, deep in concentration, off-guard. “Don’t worry too much. I had to learn how to use it, too. Everyone was years beyond me. They don’t really have stuff like this on the Outer Rim.” 

Jorren turned around and looked the young man in the face, finding himself face to face with a gangly, awkward youth in the early stages of maturation. He had the long, thin braid of a Padawan learner, his hair dusty brown, his eyes pale blue… And the sort of expression that reminded Jorren of Malak before he’d been Darth Malak, self-assured and open, but openly curious.

That alone was probably why he didn’t immediately brush the Padawan off and instead turned back to the screen. “You think I would be better at this, but apparently not. I just can’t figure out what kinds of things it wants me to input, and I can’t figure out how to bring up the keypad. The instructions aren’t clear at all.” 

The youth walked over to him and leaned over the console, pointing at the holographic interface. “There’s a button in the bottom left that will pull up the keypad, which should show up down here.”

He pressed the button and a blue keyboard flared to life beneath Jorren’s fingers, accompanied by a melodic beeping. “Just click the search field here to type in what you want to know.  It took me a long time to learn to read Aurebesh. I think I almost killed Master Kenobi.” The Padawan grinned at him with boyish mischief in his smile. “I’m Anakin, by the way.”

“Anakin?” Jorren asked, catching the young man’s eye a second time, his senses stirring beneath the sudden barrage of  _ presence _ , like a convergence of the Force.

It felt like Nathema in reverse, like the Force had condensed into one point rather than vanishing completely. He had no idea what to make of it, feeling confused and disoriented, until he realized it was coming from the  _ boy _ . 

He shook his head, clearing his mind, and took a breath, offering Anakin a smile. “Jorren Shan. Thank you. I really appreciate this. I’m…” he nearly laughed out loud at his own, private joke before he made it. “I’m a bit behind on today’s technology, I’m afraid.” 

“Were you away on a mission?” Anakin asked, taking a seat in the chair beside him, leaning forward, his expression earnest and still curious. “Somewhere far away?” 

“Something like that,” Jorren said, and then smiled, running his hand reflexively over the bottom of his face, even though he was clean shaven. “I’m a bit out on current events. Where I was, I didn’t much news.” 

“So you don't know about Naboo?” Anakin’s eyes lit up, presumably for the chance to tell someone an exciting story. 

“Naboo? What happened on Naboo?” 

Anakin leaned forward almost conspiratorily, and Jorren followed suit as the Padawan dropped his voice. “Naboo was placed under military blockade by the Trade Federation. There are the stirrings of war in the Galaxy, or that’s what it seems like. There hasn’t been a real war in one thousand years and I’ve been told the Republic is fumbling about what to do.” 

Blockade? Trade Federation? And, most interesting, no war in  _ one thousand years _ ? 

In his day, something like that would have been unheard of. 

“So the Jedi… helped liberate Naboo?” Jorren asked, glancing briefly over his shoulder to find a young man possibly in his mid-twenties approaching them, a frown on his face as his fingers stroked through a fledgling beard. 

“I was there, kind of,” Anakin admitted. “My Master was one of the people who helped lift--”

“Anakin, what in the world are you doing?” The young man with the beard walked across the archive, frowning sharply at his Padawan, though he looked a bit too young to have one. “Is he bothering you, sir?”

“No,” said Jorren. “Actually, he was being helpful. Thanks again, Anakin.” 

“Hear that, Master? I was being  _ helpful _ .” Anakin grinned and then laughed when his Master’s frown deepened. “What? It was bound to happen some day.” 

“Right. I’m sure you’re very proud of yourself, but I must remind you that pride is not a trait becoming of a Jedi Knight,” the frowning young man relaxed ever so slightly. “Thank you, mysterious stranger, for watching my Padawan. He does have his ways of sneaking away while I’m not looking.” 

“You were going to meet with the Jedi Council,” Anakin said as means of explanation. “Besides, I did end up helping someone, so it was worth it. Maybe the Force was leading me here.” 

“I”m sure it was, Anakin,” the man, Master Kenobi presumably, sighed. “What are you two looking for, anyway?”

“I’m trying to play catchup,” Jorren explained to the young Jedi Knight, choosing not to elaborate further, not wanting to betray his status as a  _ ward _ of the Order rather than a  _ member _ of the Order. 

He justified it to himself by telling him that they wouldn’t give him any answers. 

“Catchup? You’ve been away?” The Jedi Knight, to his shock and perhaps a bit to his annoyance, took the seat on his other side. “That explains why I don’t recognize you, then.” 

Something in his voice made Jorren think that he was still suspicious, especially when his pale eyes slid over the projection to see if Jorren had typed anything in the field… And in fact, he had. 

**Revan.**

“Though that is   _ hardly _ current events, my friend.” The Jedi Knight stroked his beard again, leaning back in his chair, seeming to contemplate Jorren as he stared at him with his pale eyes. 

“Maybe I’m just trying to get a better idea of the historical context of the last four thousand years,” Jorren said, knowing the excuse was weak and not particularly caring. “You can’t understand the present without first understanding the past. Any good scholar knows that.” 

“If I were you, I’d start a bit  _ closer  _ to the issues at hand,” Kenobi said, seeming to offer genuine advice in spite of his clear suspicion. “The Army of Light, the Brotherhood of Darkness, and the Battle of Ruusan are probably your best starting places.” 

“Uh… Master?” Anakin chimed in, causing both Jorren and Kenobi to look at him. “Master Windu is approaching. He looks about as happy as a Sand Person with a blaster rifle.” 

Jorren immediately stood to intercept him. “I’m sorry, Anakin. That’s my fault, nothing either of you did.” He shot a smile back over his shoulder. “Thanks again, for your help. I’m sorry I didn’t have more time to research, but hopefully this sends some kind of message.” 

He highly doubted it would send a positive message to Master Mace Windu, but it might get the rest of the High Council to actually  _ do _ something. Sitting around doing physical therapy, repairing his broken dietary habits, and talking to Healers and Jedi Masters who refused to tell him anything was hardly cutting it any longer. 

Sometimes, in order to make things change, you had to take matters into your own hands. 

“What are you doing out here?” Windu demanded underneath his breath the moment Jorren was close enough to hear him. “You can’t just walk around the Temple without permission or an escort.”

“I know my way around,” Jorren said simply. “No one doubts that I’m a Jedi. What are so worried about? That I’ll bring your younglings over to the Dark Side?” Windu’s dark eyes crew almost critical, and Jorren snorted. “I just want context, Windu. I want to research what’s happened in the last four thousand years. I’m a bit behind. You can’t really fault me for wanting to know, especially when no one seems willing to tell me anything.” 

“That may be so,” Windu conceded, “and it’s something I’ll talk to the rest of the Council about, but you’re _ still _ tainted. You need rest, supervision, and healing. You’ve made remarkable progress in your physical improvement, but until you show improvement in other ways, we’re not prepared to authorize you to--”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I’ll never be without the taint?” Jorren asked, his voice low, anger barely kept from it, as they stopped in a wide, open hallway relatively empty of foot traffic. “You don’t just go through something like I did and come out without scars.” 

“Until you show improvement--” Windu began to say again, and Jorren shook his head, cutting him off for a second time. 

“I  _ have _ shown improvement. I’m millenia displaced from anything familiar, but I can still get up in the morning, I can still eat, and I can still hold conversations.” He ran his hands through his shaggy hair and sighed. “Listen, Master, I understand that you’re trying to help me, but locking me away from all interaction and forcing me to adhere to your schedule for my improvement isn’t helping me. It’s making things  _ worse _ .” 

That quieted Windu for a moment, the man staring off into the distance before he sighed heavily. “It can’t be easy to have to place all your faith in your rehabilitation in others,” he seemed to concede. “I’ll bring the subject up with the Council. You’re… probably right that you can’t recover without doing something productive. In the meantime,  _ please  _ trust our judgement and stop trying to escape.” 

Jorren felt a bit of relief wash through him, glad that Windu was more reasonable than Vrook, at the very least. 

“I’ll see what I can do, Master.” 

Windu didn’t looked impressed. 


	2. Liability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Revan's fate as a prospective member of the Order is decided. 
> 
> Tune in next time for a chapter that is the equivalent of a Rocky Training Montage.

“You’re telling me that Jedi ruled entire planets?” Jorren asked, watching as Fisto nodded, sitting in the chair across from him, keeping Jorren polite company.  

“After the defeat of Kaan’s Brotherhood of Darkness at Ruusan, the Army of Light was disbanded and the existence of the Jedi Lords was outlawed by the High Council. For the last thousand years, peace has reigned, and the Jedi have been the guardians of that peace.”

“So this… New Sith War was so bad that the Republic abandoned entire Outer Rim worlds to be ruled by the Jedi or conquered by the Sith?” Jorren snorted, and then laughed. “That doesn’t sound too different from the Mandalorian Wars, though even the Jedi couldn’t be bothered to do anything about the Mandalorians conquering planets.”

“You keep referencing the Mandalorian Wars,” Master Fisto said, his expression typically calm, but tinged with the slightest hint of curiosity. “Have you ever considered submitting some sort of report so that we can fill in the spaces in our history where there is nothing?” 

“I’d have to be a member of the Order to submit a report, and as Master Windu repeatedly reminds me,” Jorren said, sticking up a finger, “I am  _ not _ a member of the Order, and at this point, it would take a vote of your Council to reinstate me, something he nor Yoda seem compelled to bring up.” 

“I could try to remind him,” said Fisto with a smile. “You’d have to submit yourself to training, but I have no doubt that you’d pass any trials thrown your way quickly. You would be an asset to the Order.” 

At this point, Jorren had been a ward of the Order for nearly a year, and though the idea of submitting himself to the Jedi for training wasn’t appealing in the slightest, it had to be better than sitting around having a meal with Fisto, Yoda, or Plo-Koon, when they could spare the time. Besides, he could easily justify it to himself with the reminder that he had nothing else to do with his time and nowhere else to go. There was nothing left in the Galaxy for him, leaving the Order the last shred of familiar in a Republic he did not recognize. 

“I’m glad you think so, Master Fisto,” Jorren said, bowing his head and staring at his reflection in the surface of the metal table. “To be frank, I can’t really imagine myself doing anything else at this point. It’s not like I have a family to go back to.” 

For a moment, he pictured Vaner’s face, the only time he had ever seen it, small and round, still a toddler, but with intense dark eyes and a serious voice. There was a pang in his chest, and he ran his hand over his face, swallowing thickly before he glanced at Master Fisto through his fingers. 

“Sorry,” he said, excusing his own emotional outburst, sure that the Jedi Master could sense his feelings. “It’s still hard to think about how out of place I am. That’s why I think getting back into a position where I could help people would serve me well. If I could just spend some time out of my head, I might start feeling more like I have a place here.” 

Fisto nodded, more sympathetic to his plight than Jorren would have thought. Actually, it reminded him a bit of Master Zhar, regretful of his decisions, lamenting their necessity, always kind when he could spare a moment. He had tried hard to repent for what he had done, and had lobbied for Revan to stay in the Order, after the Star Forge… After…

After everything that happened. 

“I understand. To be honest, I think it would benefit you, as well,” Fisto said with a nod. “In the meantime, spend the day relaxing. I think you’ve been focusing a bit too hard on regaining your physical abilities recently. You should spend some time in the Archives, and if anyone questions you, simply tell them you have my permission.” 

“Thank you, Master Fisto. I might actually spend some time in meditation. I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the things that happened to me,” he hesitated. “And about the gaps in my memory.”

They didn’t really exist, but he felt it was necessary to keep lying to the Jedi Order. He’d once made the mistake of asking about Revan, and… well, it hadn’t gone well. They didn’t know anything about him other than that he had been  _ Sith _ when his life had been so much larger and more complicated than that. 

He could still remember Yoda’s face, the way his brow had furrowed as he tapped his fingers against his chin and considered Jorren with a solemn expression. Jorren hated that face, dreading Yoda’s penetrating gaze even though he’d only known the man for a short time. It felt like the Jedi Grandmaster was looking through you, like he could peel away your skin and read your thoughts, even though that power was beyond Jedi. 

“Once fallen, return from the Dark Side, few Jedi do.” Yoda had said very seriously. “If wondering about an old friend, you are, I am afraid only disappointment you will find.” 

He wanted to scream that he had come back, that he had been saved, that he had  _ chosen _ to be someone different. But he had chosen to be different for the love of Bastila, which is why he could never regret that the Jedi Council had erased his mind, no matter how much it hurt.

They had brought him to her. 

“You do have a great deal to contemplate,” Master Fisto agreed. “Still, my offer remains. Do not let yourself mire through your thoughts alone, my friend,” the Jedi Master said as he stood. “You could find companionship here, if you wanted it. I believe it is time for you to start looking toward the future rather than dwelling on your past.” 

“Easier said than done,” Jorren said with a sad smile. “But thank you, Master Fisto. I always appreciate your company.” 

“It’s not a problem, Jorren,” Fisto said with a winning smile. “I enjoy your company, as well. Try to get up and about today. What happened to the renegade willing to defy Master Windu’s wishes?” 

Jorren laughed at that. 

“He stayed put to get his answers and was given more freedom of movement,” Jorren said before his expression softened. “You’re right, though. I should get up and about.” 

“Then go ahead,” Fisto’s grin widened. “There will be plenty of time for meditation after the younglings go to bed and the Temple grows quiet. We will speak later.” 

It was strange for a Jedi Master to encourage him not to meditate, but the more Jorren thought about it, the more it made sense for Fisto to try to persuade him to reach out to other people. He must sense Jorren’s loneliness, his listlessness, and his pain. In fact, it was probably pretty obvious enough to anyone old enough to have learned to reach out with their feelings, even the youngest crechelings. 

He tried to tell himself that he could move on from this, but even as he walked toward the Archive, he knew he was lying. 

Even if things could get better, he’d never be the same again.

But wasn’t that just the story of his life? 

“Oh, hey,” said a voice from down the hallway, making Jorren freeze, pulling him from his thoughts. “It’s the man from the Archive, Master.” 

“Indeed it is, though perhaps we shouldn’t be accosting random people in the hallways, Anakin.” 

Jorren turned around to find Anakin and Jedi Kenobi walking toward him. There was a wide smile on Anakin’s youthful face, though his Master appeared more careworn and cautious, his eyes darting over Jorren before he sighed heavily. 

“Anakin,” Jorren said, looking between the pair one more time. “Still running around the Temple? Don’t you two have an assignment?” 

“We’re still recovering from the last one,” Kenobi answered in Anakin’s place, or rather, answered before Anakin could get out a word. “And what about you, mysteriously anachronistic search stranger?” 

“I never have anything to do,” he said with a lopsided smile that he suspected was tired. “Master Fisto’s given me permission to head on down to the Archive and dedicate time to the recovery of my mind. You know, the three pillars…” He trailed off and then sighed. “Knowledge, discipline, Force? I’m working on the knowledge part.” 

“Recovery?” Kenobi asked, still not letting Anakin speak, annoyance blooming on the youth’s face. “You’re a patient here?” 

“Pulled out of a barely functioning space station,” Jorren replied with a shrug, his smile not faltering. “Ex-Jedi Master. I’d have to go through the training again if I wanted to go back into the field, but Masters Windu and Yoda are a bit reluctant.” 

He honestly didn’t blame them. 

Jorren wasn’t stupid enough to think that he was anywhere near sane or stable. He knew himself well enough to know that, if any of his enemies had survived, he would have occupied his time with rage and revenge, using justice as an excuse until he drove himself into the ground. His personal motivation and his sense of right would collide with his instability and merge into a deadly cocktail, making him the single minded crusader once more. 

He had just always been that way. 

Obsessive. 

_ Passionate _ , countered Bastila’s voice in his head,  _ just ill _ . 

“You must have been through quite a lot,” Kenobi said, his frown softening to something more contemplative before he sighed again and stepped forward. “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and you’ve already met Anakin.” 

“Jorren Shan,” he said, his smile faltering for half a second. “Working toward being able to join the Order again.” 

At those words, sullen Anakin’s eyes lit up. “Master, we could help him study the relevant material. It could even serve as a refresher for me. You’re constantly saying I need to spend more time studying.” 

“I… suppose I did say that,” Kenobi admitted. “I’m just not certain how the Jedi Council would react.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “But, if you have Master Fisto in your camp… Well, what harm can it do?” 

Jorren secretly thought it could do a lot of harm, but honestly? He needed the distraction. It got tiring spending every day talking to the same people and going through the same motions. Maybe spending some time with Anakin and Kenobi would do him some good, if only because it might get him out of his own head. 

He needed to spend less time there, especially if he wanted to honor Fisto’s good advice. 

“Thank you,” Jorren said as Anakin motioned for the two men to follow, looking oddly excited to be learning. 

Strangely enough, Jorren remembered the feeling of excitement from going to the Archives of his day, much less expansive than the modern Archives. He’d barely been inside them, and he already knew how much the Order had expanded their library in the years since his untimely disappearance. Anakin didn’t seem the studious sort, hardly a historian, but considering the sheer volume of information contained within the Archive, it would honestly be a surprise if there wasn’t  _ something _ that interested him. 

“It’s hardly a problem,” Kenobi said to him, falling into step only a few paces behind him. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t take advantage of something that can actually get my Padawan into the Archives.” He paused, the look in his pale eyes amused, his lips twitching up into a smile Jorren could just barely see behind his mustache. “I apologize. Perhaps that seems selfish of me.” 

“I never had a formal Padawan learner,” Jorren replied, “but I imagine that if you have a student who’s brilliant and intuitive in the field but lacks the dedication to study, having him assist in the learning of another would serve to reinforce old lessons.”    
“Never a formal learner?” Kenobi asked, curiosity glinting just behind the placid facade of his emotions, a certain scientific interest that told Jorren he might have been trained by a Consular, even if he himself was something else. “Forgive me if this is a personal question, but I’m very curious about your situation, as little as you’ve told me…” He trailed off, as if building up to his question. “You implied you were a Jedi Master, yes? How does one become a Jedi Master without training a Padawan?” 

“Outstanding service to the Order and the Galaxy,” he responded. “Training a Padawan is one way to become a Master, but even that’s not an ironclad guarantee. Or at least it wasn’t long ago. Simply put… I proved my competence.” 

Kenobi looked like he wanted to ask more, but to his credit, he was a very tactful man (perhaps in contrast to his Padawan, whose bright eyes burned with unrestrained curiosity). Jorren was grateful, in fact. Maybe one day Kenobi would be in his confidence, but for now it was difficult to confide his struggles even in those he talked to with alarming frequency, like Master Fisto. He didn’t exactly feel like sharing the secrets of his dark past. 

They reached the Archives without incident, Anakin immediately rushing toward the terminals to enter his information, receiving a glare from a woman who looked about as compromising as Atris. She was older, and that actually made Jorren feel like her annoyance was more justified than self-righteous Atris. 

He felt a sudden pang of loss, followed by surprise, shocked that he could miss even her. 

“I’ve never seen him this eager,” Kenobi said amusedly. “Maybe I’ll ask you to study with us more often, if you’re trying to get recertified. I think having a study partner might do him good.” 

Jorren grinned, smile lopsided, as his footsteps echoed through the loud, quiet room, sinking into a chair beside the Padawan. “How do you know I won’t just encourage him?”

Anakin glanced toward him, looking fairly amused himself, though not quite in the same way as Kenobi. “I’m the bad influence here,” he said, his grin widening. “I didn’t spend my infancy in the Order like everyone else here.”

That information… It both made sense to Jorren, and shocked him. 

Only when the Jedi were desperate did they accept students over the age of five, and even in his time the cut off hadn't been much older than that. This was a time of plenty, and he honestly saw no reason for them to accept Anakin… Unless… 

Jorren recalled the surge of energy and met Kenobi’s eyes, finding something in him that made his suppositions make sense. He wasn’t sure what it was, just… A hint of something, almost unreadable. 

That and Anakin’s incredible presence…

It was clear to see why he was here. 

“As much as it pains me, I’m afraid I have to agree with my Padawan,” Kenobi said, taking the seat on the opposite side of the young man. “He can be a bit of a bad influence on the unprepared.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” Jorren said with a small smile. “I was a bit of a bad influence myself, back in my day.” 

Kenobi, still curious, gave him a long look, but said nothing. Instead, he turned to his Padawan, who was already looking at Jorren with his large, intensely blue eyes. Oddly enough, something about Anakin reminded him of… Malak, of all people. Maybe it was the blue eyes and the feckless grin. 

“See, Master? I’m not the only one who’s bad at following the rules.” Before Kenobi responded, he turned toward the computer terminal, looking at Jorren from the side of his eye. “So… What was it you wanted to look up?” 

Jorren considered for a moment, then pulled up the keypad on the screen, his long arms easily reaching across Anakin’s body. “Let’s start with what’s most important to me,” he said, pausing a bit as he glanced cautiously at Kenobi. “The Sith.” 

“The Sith?” Kenobi asked, almost predictably. “A curious first choice, I must admit, though I do suppose the Sith have shaped the Republic…” He stroked his beard, and for a minute, the words seemed intensely personal, but the impression was gone only a moment later. “I suppose it would be natural for you to want to research them.” 

“Just researching the Sith is going to give us nearly endless results,” Anakin muttered. “Can you be more specific?” 

“I want to know why the Republic is the way it is now,” Jorren mused. “What powers have shaped the modern political system and given birth to this unprecedented era of peace? So to that end, learning about Darth Bane feels like my best course of action, since it was what he did at Ruusan that shaped the modern Republic so thoroughly.” 

“Bane and Ruusan?” Anakin asked, reaching for the keypad. “I can do that.” 

A look of concern creased Kenobi’s brow deeply as he settled farther into his seat, arms crossed firmly over his chest. “The Sith were assumed extinct for one thousand years. The Galaxy has been at peace all that time. Until relatively recently, of course,” he said, glancing at Anakin, brow still furrowed. “Bane’s teachings have had far reaching consequences, stretching across the Force.” 

“Far reaching consequences?” Jorren asked, glancing over his shoulder, genuinely curious. “You’ve learned this already, What consequences have Bane’s teachings had?” 

“The Rule of Two,” Obi-Wan explained. “Before Bane, there were many Sith, all of them sharing the power. They were a powerful Force to reckon with, but Bane… Bane honed his skills as a tool of the Dark Side by concentrating the will of the Dark Side into two points if power. A Master and--” 

The words scarcely registered to Jorren at first, his hands twining in the fabric of his loose fitting pants, “an Apprentice. The Dark Lord to embody the power, the Apprentice to covet it.” 

Dully, his heart thudded in his ears, and he attempted to shake himself free of the slow chills traveling down his spine at the words. Obi-Wan’s open stare, though, and Anakin’s confusion, only compounded his paranoia and the sick guilt that was suddenly boiling to genuine nausea in his stomach. 

“Yes. I thought you said you weren’t familiar with all of this. Have you had prior training after all?” Obi-Wan stroked his beard curiously, his blue-grey eyes turning piercing. 

“I was a Jedi before. I’ve had some training. That’s not why I…” He glanced toward Anakin, whose confusion had been joined by a curiosity so palpable that Jorren could sense it. “Anakin. Can you do me a favor and look up Darth Revan and Darth Malak?” 

“Sure,” Anakin said, his voice overflowing with the impatient desire to have his questions answered. 

A moment later, words were flashing across the screen, and images, though not very many, Jorren noticed. Thank the Living Force, they had absolutely no idea what Revan had looked like behind his mask. 

“Bane wasn’t the first Sith to have that idea,” Jorren explained, pointing toward the screen. “These two. Revan and Malak. It was Revan’s…” he took a deep breath. “It was his idea. Bane must have… I don’t know... “ He wanted to laugh, wanted to run off to Lehon and find the Holocron, though he already had a hollow feeling in his chest that told him it wouldn’t be there. “Found his teachings. Adapted them.” 

“And do you have evidence of this?” Obi-Wan asked, playing the pragmatist. “Most of the information we have about Darth Revan and Darth Malak has been lost to time.” 

Jorren gulped down deep, even, breaths and centered himself. “Evidence? This is…” Jorren waved his hand. “I’m telling you that--” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore his pulsing anxiety and the pounding in his temples. 

_ Peace.  _

“Something the matter, there is?” 

Jorren froze momentarily before he relaxed, looking over his shoulder to find Yoda standing directly behind them, leaning heavily on his staff. He stared up at them with his large, green eyes, a curious expression on his face. Vaguely, Jorren wondered if Yoda had sensed his distress and vowed to regain his own emotional control. 

“An academic debate, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan explained. “Over the origin of the Rule of Two. Our friend here is of the opinion that Darth Revan is the rule’s originator.” 

Yoda glanced toward him, then, and they locked eyes. Jorren had stared down enough Jedi Masters in his time to not be bothered by the penetrating gaze of any of the truly old and wise leaders of the Council. “True, this is, Jorren?” 

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Jorren nodded. “It’s true. Revan was the one who came up with the idea in the first place. How Bane found out about it, I… I’m not really completely sure, but it’s possible Revan left a Holocron and that Bane found it.” 

“But why does it matter?” Anakin’s butted in, leaving Obi-Wan looking somehow both annoyed and embarrassed. “The past doesn’t change the present. The Sith are still evil, and Bane still killed a lot of Jedi at the Battle of Ruusan.” 

“That’s not quite true,” Jorren muttered almost absently. “Would Bane have made the same decisions without Revan’s teachings? How… How much did this one Sith Lord from the ancient past influence Bane’s beliefs? If the Sith had different beliefs, would we be fighting them the same way? It’s a complicated chain of cause and effect.” 

“But evil is still evil,” Anakin protested. “Don’t we have a duty as Jedi to fight it no matter what shape it take?” 

“It’s true that we do,” Obi-Wan responded before Jorren could say anything else, “but Jorren here has a point. The way you fight that evil is different based on what form it takes. That’s why it’s important to understand your enemy, so you can defeat him.” 

“Or convert him,” Jorren said. “The Force is fluid. Sith and Jedi can change sides. It’s something you can come back from.” 

“An unusual view this is,” Yoda muttered, reminding Jorren that he was there. “Discuss your beliefs about Revan in private, we shall.” He bowed his head in the direction of Obi-Wan and Anakin politely before motioning for Jorren to follow. 

Something told Jorren this was going to be a very unpleasant conversation. 

 

***

 

Jorren had been correct to assume his conversation with Yoda would be unpleasant. 

Talking to the old Master was always a somewhat painful experience, especially when he went into the conversation grim and cryptic. Much like Vandar, Yoda could be pleasant enough when he wasn’t being either of those things, unfortunately, Yoda also lacked Vandar’s sense of humor, which had been replaced by a piercing stare and its accompanying intuition. 

“Know much about Darth Revan, you do?” Yoda asked, hobbling along beside Jorren, who was walking so slowly that he’d crawled on his hands and knees faster than he was moving at the moment. 

“I know enough,” Jorren replied, trying to keep his still-roiling emotions from his voice. “I… I was his contemporary, Master Yoda. I  _ knew _ him.” 

Yoda walked in silence for a long moment, and Jorren already knew where they were heading. This Temple was larger, different, than the one in his memories, but he would recognize the room of one thousand fountains anywhere, its peacefulness, something he had one reveled in, set him on edge. Maybe it was all the Jedi and their robes milling around, or the looks on the faces of the little children who were only now realizing just how strange the world they lived in was. 

Regardless, it filled him with a feeling of disquiet. 

“Changed much, the world has, since the days of your youth,” Yoda said, limping over to a bench, where he sat down, leaving Jorren to fall him, though Jorren was too restless to sit properly. “Feel displaced, you must. Imagine such a thing, I cannot.” 

“I would say it’s not so bad, but I sense you would know how much of a lie that was,” Jorren said as he crossed his arms over his chest, staring up at the jets of water, brow furrowed intensely. “I have nowhere to go and nothing to do. Everything I knew is gone, and everyone I… All the people I knew…” He tried to let the sense of quiet generated by this place wash over him, but it failed, leaving his emotions screaming inside his skull. “They’re gone, as well.” 

“And yet keep going, you do,” Yoda said, his eyes on Jorren’s face, though Jorren still looked elsewhere. “Many secrets you hold, I sense. Captured by the Sith no mere Jedi is. Only for opposing them directly, would a Jedi be taken.” 

“I did oppose them directly,” Jorren said, frustrated, trying to suppress the emotion in front of the Jedi, gulping down deep breaths. “I discovered they were still lurking on the edge of the Galaxy and I went to see what I could do.”

That wasn’t quite true. He had gone in search of answers and had found those answers in the form of the Sith, at least in a sense. 

Jorren found himself sorely missing the weight of the familiar mask on his face in that moment. 

He always felt more formidable with it on, but it was long gone, if it hadn’t been taken from the wreckage of the prison. Which… Which meant it might be here, actually. It might have been given to the Jedi, or else salvaged off to some unsuspecting vendor, or someone who knew artifacts of the Force, and… 

His mind was getting too far ahead of him.

Jorren took a breath and grounded himself in the present. 

“Many secrets, you hide,” Yoda said, reminding Jorren that he was having this conversation. “Confusion, I sense, pain. These things lead to the Dark Side. Release your burdens you must, or you will be destroyed.” 

The strange poignancy of the words, their wisdom, reminded Jorren that maybe he had been living too much in the past. With this way his mind was wandering, with the way he alternatively lived either thinking ahead or entrenched behind, it slowly dawned on him that he wasn’t ready to become a Jedi again. Serving the Order meant a certain presence of mind, one he currently didn’t possess because his real problems weren’t being addressed. 

Yoda, as much as he looked like Master Vandar, as much as he could sometimes sound like him, had a hardness and a sense of discernment Master Vandar had never possessed. 

And perhaps… perhaps he also possessed more wisdom.

Enough to understand. 

“You’re right,” he managed after a moment staring at his fingers, picturing his hands at they had looked at different times, feeling the loss of Bastila and Vaner more keenly than he had since he’d arrived. 

Beside him, Yoda relaxed, reaching out a small, three fingered hand to rest it on Jorren’s knee. “Many burdens you carry. To truly free yourself, admit to your suffering, you must.” 

Had Fisto known this would happen?

Had he set this up?

The way his eyes sparkled with knowing sometimes, Jorren had to wonder, and he snorted, running one of his hands over his face before he took another few deep breaths. Inside his mind, his thoughts were swimming, parts of him screaming for him to not admit who he was, the other part struggling against the current, encouraging him do as the Jedi Master advised. 

“The truth is, Master Yoda, that at the time all of these things were happening, I was at the center of them,” He stilled his heart, letting the small voice win out, refusing to let fear dominate him; it could be a useful tool, but not now, never now. 

He was master of his emotions, not a slave to them. 

Not a Sith. 

The old Jedi stared up at him with those piercing eyes, eyes that he was certain could strip answers for misbehaving younglings in a matter of seconds. The sort of man who knew how to get information from someone, if he needed to, without ever making them feel like they had been forced to against their will.

Jorren could identify. 

“I  _ did _ know Revan well,” Jorren continued. “If your healers want to help me, they’ll have to understand that. Understand Revan.”

He shook his head, tempted to laugh again. 

“A task that’s probably impossible without the help of his closest friends and confidants. Speaking from personal experience, even with his memories intact, he doesn’t understand himself half as well as he would like.” 

To Master Yoda’s credit, his expression changed very little. Jorren might not have been able to sense the change at all if he hadn’t had such a gift for sensing others emotions, or subtle changes of the emotional current in a room in general. Feeling the currents of the Living Force was a gift, one that had inflicted him with visions, visions that had spurred him into action, to save a Galaxy that was on the brink of being conquered by the Mandalorians. 

“More to say, you have?” Yoda asked rather than jump to conclusions, in spite of the troubled air Jorren sensed. 

“You don’t know anything about me,” Jorren said after a moment of thinking. “You know nothing about me at all. That’s not your fault. So much has been lost, which isn’t surprising, with how often our Galaxy has been ripped apart at the seams by war.” 

He drummed the fingers of one hand against his knee, staring up at the jets of water, which arced high into the air. The Jedi were capable of things of true beauty, something that came from their sense of compassion and duty, that much he had known from the time he was very small. 

“I fell through the cracks, one unimportant Sith Lord sandwiched in between the mighty Exar Kun and the great Sith Empire, lost in the currents of time. Like the Infinite Empire. Like the Mandalorians.” He shook his head, thinking about how fitting it was that he should be forgotten, dwarfed in comparison to the giants around him, but perhaps possessing a secret significance, as sinister as it may be. “I didn’t remain Sith, Master Yoda. I was redeemed. I’m the one who… ended Malak’s life.” 

At this, Yoda hummed and nodded. “Speak the truth, you do. I sense no deception in you. Sith you were, but Sith you are no longer.” He looked long and hard at Jorren, and somehow, he knew what the old man would say before he’d even uttered the words. “But Jedi, you are not.” 

_ In the end, darkness takes me, and I am nothing.  _

“I can’t claim you’re wrong, Master,” Jorren said, bowing his head. “Even I’m not sure what to call myself. But I do not serve the Dark Side of the Force.” 

“But do you serve the Light?” Yoda asked, pushing himself from the bench, sighing heavily, his ears drooping with some unseen burden. “Meditate on your presence here, I must. Get some rest, I suggest you do. Call on you, the Council surely will.” 

Jorren nodded, scarcely believing what he had confessed to, but filled with the sense of peace he only possessed when he had done the right thing. His instincts had never failed him, be he Sith or Jedi, or whatever he was now. 

Did that mean he had always served the Force, regardless of his alignment? 

Something to consider, before talking to a room full of Jedi. 

That night, in his chambers, he sat up, thinking about Bane, about how he himself may have influenced the Sith and how they’d developed. He wasn’t clear exactly on the situation as it was right now, whether they Sith were alive or dead, what had happened to them… 

It was still his fault. 

He was still responsible. 

The strange sense of calm melted away, leaving him with gnawing guilt in the pit of his stomach, eating at him like few things had eaten at him before. Oddly enough, though, he was familiar with the guilt of having made cataclysmic mistakes, mistakes he was now recognizing had more of an impact than he ever could have imagined when he was making them. 

He was liable for this. 

And, just like it always had, predictable as the tide and the movement of planets around stars, he felt determined to do whatever he could to fix it. Oddly, though tears streaked his face, though he felt crushed underneath the weight of everything he’d lost and everything he’d done, the certainty that he had changed so very little was a comfort to him. 

 

***

 

Yoda had been right. 

When they did summon him two days later, just confessing about his identity had decreased his anxiety twelvefold. It let him stop pretending that he was anything other than himself, and though he still felt unstable, depressed, and alienated, he felt like Revan. 

Somehow, feeling like Revan made all the difference. 

Revan had always been capable of amazing things, so being in touch with that part of himself again, embracing it fully, made it much easier to stand in front of the Jedi Council, their eyes upon him.. Surprisingly, there was less of an air of Judgement than he thought there would be, and when he caught Master Fisto’s eye, though the Nautolan’s  face was grim, there was something encouraging in the nod of acknowledgement they shared. 

Bowing before them, Revan straightened himself only to hear the voice of Master Windu carrying through the chamber. He noticed, as the man spoke, that he was apparently worthy of a full council of twelve. Apparently they thought former Sith Lords from the distant past were marginally important, after all. 

“Revan,” Mace Windu began. “You stand before us today because of your past crimes, committed as a Dark Lord of the Sith. You are being allowed to speak for yourself because Master Yoda has sensed a change in you,” he said, exchanging a glance with the small Master, whose ears were still heavy with contemplation. 

“Speak for yourself, you must. But be aware,” Yoda said, leaning forward in his seat. “Influence your fate, the words you say, will. Put much thought into your own defense, you must.” 

Revan nodded and took a breath, centering himself. 

“With all due respect, Master Yoda,” he said, lips twitching up into a vague smile, “I’ve won over tougher crowds than this.” 

No one seemed too pleased with his joke, except, perhaps, Master Fisto, who shifted forward slightly in his seat. At least telling it made him feel better. 

“The things you’ve heard about me are true,” Revan began, more seriously. “I did try to conquer the Galaxy, and nearly succeeded. Your texts talk about my defeat at the hands of Bastila Shan,” Revan said, bowing his head toward Master Fisto. “I have Master Fisto to thank for the information. He’s done much to help me adjust, and I am not sure I will ever be able to repay his generosity.” 

Master Fisto nodded, still leaning forward intently, perhaps because he was interested in hearing the truth. Revan could appreciate his intellectual curiosity, and was certain that if he were to watch Master Fisto draw his lightsaber, it would be green rather than blue. 

He knew how to recognize a fellow Consular. 

“Bastila didn’t defeat me,” Revan explained. “Malak honored the tradition among my Sith and attempted to murder me in order to take my power and my place as the Dark Lord. He nearly succeeded had Bastila not saved my life by healing me and bringing me to the Jedi Council.” 

“They brought you to the Jedi Council?” Asked Master Mundi, who Revan had been introduced to only a few times, enough to know that he was quiet and thoughtful. 

“Yes, Master,” Revan said. “At the time, the Council was small and filled with many young Jedi, a result of the dissent in the Jedi Order that had caused many positions on the Council to open up. The members in question in this case are the Jedi Masters who had taken to hiding on Dantooine, which at the time held an Enclave meant to train the future Champions of the Order.” 

He began to pace, growing restless while he explained. 

“Hiding here were the Grand Master Vandar Tokare and Masters Vrook Lamar and Zhar Lestin, who wanted to divide their ranks so that if Malak and I ever decided to attack, we couldn’t take out the entire council in one fell swoop,” he took a breath. “In any case, these three men, along with Dantooine’s Chief Archivist, Master Dorak, were the ones who made the decision to destroy my mind and replace my memories with false ones, so that they could control me and find their way to the Star Forge.” 

The Council in the present set to whispering, his revelation rippling through them. Revan had to admit that he was relieved at their response, even if it felt empty to realize that they only had the luxury to be offended because they were in an era of near perfect peace. None of them had ever fought in a real war, a realization that made his throat feel tight for reasons he couldn’t quite place a name to. 

How were they supposed to judge his crimes if they didn’t understand the pressures he had been under? That even the Council of the past had felt? 

Somehow, none of it felt… just. 

“They erased your mind and sought to control you,” Master Plo-Koon said, tapping the front of his rebreather. “What was their method of control?”

“Bastila Shan,” Revan explained. “A Force Bond had been created between us that would allow her to view my subconscious memories. Her interpretations would lead the Jedi toward the Star Forge. It might have worked. I really did believe I was someone else, but the failed to anticipate that Malak would reveal my identity. I… also don’t believe they considered that their Force Bond might encourage other emotions between Bastila and myself.” 

He held up his hand, and gestured to the ring on his finger. 

“There’s a reason I called myself Shan.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Revan saw something flash across Fisto’s face, but it was so brief that he couldn’t really catch what exactly it was. “So together, you defeated Malak? You redeemed yourself and returned to the Light?” 

Revan was about to speak, but Windu beat him to the punch. “It doesn’t change any of the things he’s done, unlawful attachments aside. We know that Malachor V was Revan’s work --”

“I didn’t order that planet destroyed. Or Telos V and Taris, while we’re at it.” Revan turned his attention toward Windu, who still reminded him of Vrook. “I ordered the Mass Shadow Generator built, but I had no idea that it would work the way it did. I also wasn’t he one who activated that particular bomb. It was one of my Generals. The other two planets were Malak.” 

He took a breath. 

“I’m not saying the things I did were right, but none of you can understand what war encourages in people, and what we were trying to protect others from. There was a single day of my life that I didn’t hear about someone dying, and how the Jedi were doing nothing to stop it, when they had the power to help and a duty to protect the people of the Outer Rim just as much as any Republic World. Believe it or not, at the time my rebellion made perfect sense.” 

“The Jedi abandoned the Outer Rim?” Windu asked, sounding skeptical. 

“Don’t you have any of their holocrons left? You can’t tell me Master Vandar didn’t leave behind some kind of teaching device,” Revan arched his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “He was a scientist. He would have wanted to leave a legacy for young researchers. I know it’s been a long time, but I also know the Jedi don’t destroy their own holocrons, only Sith holocrons.” 

He sighed heavily at the blank stares and, in Windu’s case, angry glares. 

“Yes. the Jedi abandoned the Outer Rim. It’s not like now. There weren’t literally hundreds of thousands of us. You’d be lucky if there were twenty-thousand left after what Exar Kun did to the Order during the Great Sith War. Even more Jedi were disillusioned and left the Order after watching so many of their peers fall to the Dark Side and the Order’s response.  Jedi like Jolee Bindo, a personal mentor and friend of mine.” 

The Council didn’t say anything, so Revan continued, glad he’d recovered his memories, glad that he had full context for his actions. This would have been hard to explain otherwise, with no means to explain actions he now knew were wrong, but had made perfect sense at the time, actions that he regretted, but knew he would never make those same mistakes again. Back before his memories had returned, before he had accepted himself for who he was and had been, those sorts of things would have eaten him alive. 

And he was still unbalanced from what he could have been.

Still affected by what had happened to him. 

“They were so focused on presenting the Sith from returning, and so focused on rebuilding the Order, that they were completely willing to believe that the Mandalorians weren’t actually a threat. The Mandalorians, who were clearly attacking worlds just to see what they could get away with. The Mandalorians, who tried to kill of the Cathar and the Stereb. Almost none of this was enough for me to get them to listen. I was a fugitive from the Order for trying to defend people when the Jedi mantra of patience was being used as an excuse for inaction.” 

He took a breath, and continued before any of the Jedi could speak.

“My mistake was thinking I could rely on Dark Side powers without letting it affect me. I had very little emotional maturity for a man my age, having been raised in the Order. The world outside of the Jedi overwhelmed me, and with no one to keep me accountable, I took more and more risks that I never would have considered acceptable before. Malak and I fell, but were still loyal to the Republic. We only became the Dark Lords because we tripped into Vitiate’s lap,” his voice turned into a low growl, and try as he might, he couldn’t keep his anger from flaring up. “He bent our minds when we discovered his Empire, and sent us back to fetch the Infinite Engine for him, the Star Forge. His only failure was his arrogance in believing that he could ever dominate our minds for long.” 

Vitiate had never managed to completely dominate him, to wring every last bit of information from his mind. Revan had stood resolute, but had come out broken. 

“Your mind was dominated?” Plo-Koon was the first to speak, still tapping his rebreather thoughtfully. “Curious. So it wasn’t a natural progression to the Dark Side, at least not completely. You were forced.”

Windu’s brow furrowed deeply and he leaned forward in his seat, staring at Revan with an intense expression on his face, though he said nothing. 

“And yet attempt to conquer the Galaxy, you still did,” Yoda said clearly enough for everyone to hear. “Powerful, the Dark Side is.” 

“I was trying to save the Galaxy. I knew something was out there, beyond the edge of the Outer Rim, but I couldn’t remember what. I thought it was my desire to conquer the Galaxy, not something implanted in my mind, so I formed my own Sith Empire after spending a year traveling, considering the teachings of the Sith. It was then that I made my holocron and placed it on Rakata Prime… Lehon.” Revan sighed. “Bane likely discovered it. Sith like to build on the idea of other Sith who they admire, so it would make sense hat he might use my teachings, were he to discover them.” 

“And you still returned to the Light,” Fisto said, seemingly before anyone else could get a word in edgewise. “Though where you stand now, I’m not so sure.”

“If you want me to be honest, Master, I have no idea where I stand. I only know that I serve the Living Force,” he bowed his head and took a calming breath. “I always have, even when Vitiate took everything from me. My wife. My… My son. My life.” 

His duty… it meant nothing now. 

He wondered if his life had a purpose, or if the Force still had a use for him.

Would be be here if it didn't? 

Hadn’t it always used his desires for its own ends? 

“What you said before, about returning to the Sith Empire to defeat Emperor Vitiate…” Master Mundi asked. “Is it true?” 

“I was searching for my memories, but that was what eventually ended up happening,” Revan replied, sensing they were coming close to deciding a verdict and banning him to the hallway in the meantime. “And in the process, who I was… That was returned to me. I may not be complete, but I’m more complete than I have been in a long time.” 

Which was what he would have to settle for, wasn’t it? Just being more complete than he used to be? 

He couldn’t ever imagine being whole when he had lost so much.

Not without Bastila.

And he had never known Vaner, not enough to feel more than an incredible sense of loss for what could have been when thinking of him. 

“Given us much to consider, you have,” said Yoda sagely, with a wave of his hand. “Discuss your testimony we will.”

“Go wait outside,” Windu ordered, sounding more and more like Vrook every day, enough that Revan was considering calling him it behind his back. “We’ll summon you when we’re ready.”

With one more bow, Revan -- Jorren -- backed himself from the room to sit in the hallway. He found himself overlooking the city of Coruscant, oddly comforted by the Jedi Order’s stagnation in this one moment. The Temple, always on the same mountain, the view always remarkably the same, no matter the era. Outside, everything was turning orange and pink, the sunset shining off of Coruscant's impossibly tall skyscrapers, making Revan feel like he had come home even if he was thousands of years away. 

How long he sat there, he didn’t know for sure, couldn’t possibly say. It seemed both too fast and too long, the sunset drawn out for a century, until the sky was muted indigo, the stars invisible because of the lights of the city flickering through the glass. Outside, the sounds of the world changed, speeders flying past on the way to casinos or night clubs. 

He thought about Mission and Zaalbar’s shop, that he’d visited only a few times, closing up as it always did at dusk, and it provided him some comfort, even if his friends were long dead. 

Eventually, the Jedi fetched him, and with the looks on their faces, he did feel some kind of relief. Windu looked grim, but Fisto relaxed, and that alone told him that he’d probably been given the second chance he so desperately wanted, the purpose he craved more than anything else. 

Still, when Yoda spoke, Jorren’s heart leapt into his throat. 

“Come to a decision, the Council has,” Yoda said, his green eyes as piercing as always. “Demonstrates an ability to change and adapt, your change of heart has. Though monitored you will be, decided to allow you to retrain with the Order, we have.” 

Jorren breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Masters.” 

“This was a difficult decision,” Windu said as Jorren straightened. “You must realize how serious of a responsibility this is. You used to be a Sith Lord, and you’ve been given this second chance. I suggest you don’t waste it.” 

Jorren looked at Windu and decided that he would resort to calling the man “Vrook” behind his back, after all. “I’m good at utilizing my second chances, Master.”

“Discuss the details of your training tomorrow, we will,” Yoda said. “For now, get rest. Need it, you will, if you are to train to be a Jedi once more.” 

“Third time’s a charm, Master,” Jorren said with a smile, and another bow. “I won’t let you down.”

And really, what he meant by that was that he wouldn’t let himself down. 

This chance to do right by the Galaxy was worth more than all the approval in the world. 


End file.
